


Gathering the Frayed Ends

by Entwife_Incognito



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sexy Times, Workplace Relationship, relationship angst, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwife_Incognito/pseuds/Entwife_Incognito
Summary: Jane and Lisbon struggle after Red John's death. Jane wanders, texting, late night skeletal phone calls. Lisbon works and wonders. Who are they to each other? Who could they become? Red John's death was not the easy resolution they expected. And the denouement, unsettling. This story grew out of a Twitter conversation with a friend. You know who you are :) Only two chapters. Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.Originally posted on FFnet August 7, 2013, and now here with refining edits to improve the read.





	1. Chapter 1

Lisbon was frightened enough about him. He would do all he could to reassure her while he figured this out. That was his resolve. Then came the blinding hot, empty whirlwind that followed the death of Red John, despair and regret forced by the realization of just how much of his life had been in Red John's grip.  


The release that should have been an open door instead popped him into the dark of his prison like a burnt out bulb, leaving him to grope in the corners, searching his way out. He could have been free years ago. But he'd trapped himself into a death battle with a serial killer. Yes, he had won. But now Patrick Jane was face to face with what he had lost. The battlefield was littered with blood and corpses and destruction.  


Teresa Lisbon thought that the death of Red John should have brought peace and relief. Instead, she found herself sleepless and anxious. Not exactly irritable, she was almost labile, her reactions swinging from extreme to extreme depending upon which unpredictable emotion was called up by any particular remark or occurrence. Or memory. Easily brought to tears, to anger, even to laughter or devastating anxiety, she tried not to be infective to the rest of her team. She stayed in her office as much as possible during these storms, completing the paperwork and filing that the wind-up of such a huge case involved. She felt lucky to have a believable excuse to be "busy."  


Truthfully, the team was just as jumpy and scattered as Lisbon or Jane, swinging from morose to manic to comical and clowning. None of them seemed to quite know what to do with themselves. It was understandable and they would just have to be tolerant of one another, lend a little support when someone got too edgy. The death of Red John left a big hole in their work lives of course but the effect was more generalized. As crazy as it sounded, the loss of that constant anxiety and tension created a different anxiety and tension. It was almost neurotic and Lisbon tried to push it out of her mind whenever it free-floated its way in.  


Often she felt at the edge of a chasm, the ground crumbling at her toes. There was a pattern to that feeling and it always involved Patrick Jane. He had been at work maybe sixty percent of the time. Instead he would stay home or make short trips. It seemed odd not to know he was on the bullpen couch or in the attic, his almost constant lairs for years, and he had spent many a night in each. Now he was hanging in his motel room? To be fair, he had the time off coming and they would just make do without him when necessary. Lisbon was somewhat mollified that he didn't seem to be moping there, but at least made several short trips away as well. He seemed to be spending a lot of time in Malibu, but had also visited his old carnie friends, Sam and Pete.  


Normally, not having her own eyes on Jane, keeping him under her constant supervision or someone on the team having him to hand, would make Lisbon uneasy, especially in this volatile time for all of them. But in the oddest turn of behavior, Patrick Jane was keeping her informed of his activities. There would be brief text messages, often with quite artistic photos he had taken. Sometimes he phoned. There was not much conversation, just checking in, but it briefly allayed her fears that he would just disappear for good. She needed a connection to him. Because her Patrick Jane chasm was about just that. He could disappear without a word and she would never see him again. Cold. Clean. Cruel.  


That fear, no, almost expectation, fueled almost all of her anxiety and probably every bit of her sleeplessness. God damn it, she was still lying in bed thinking of Patrick! There was no resolution in sight. She tried to bury herself in the job, but it just didn't work like it used to. She hadn't dated much, well, anybody in too long. But any man who showed an interest or actually asked her out didn't interest her. None of them could compare to the stimulation, entertainment and skill that Jane exuded without trying. Not to mention his stupefying good looks. The separation he imposed magnified her feelings of loneliness exponentially. It left her overheated and congested with a sexual desire that had only one object.  


There were random days that Jane stayed home to be in the quiet of his own company, no demands that his mind return from the well of thought that, while so deep he would seem lost, was nourishment. He made a two-day visit to Pete and Sam's, again for sustenance, this time from people who had loved him nearly all his life. It gave him such a simple peace, the core of his history but no longer the sum.  


Pete lumbered towards him, a big bear of a man, scooping him off his feet in a tight hug as if he was still five years old. Pete's was the closest he ever remembered to a father's love.  


"Patrick! Great to see you, son! Sam! Sam! It's Patrick!"  


"Hi, Pete. Good to see you, too. Can you put me up for a couple of nights?"  


"Sure! Airstream's empty, you can take that. On a case?"  


"No. Just thought I'd come visit if my timing's okay."  


"Are you kidding? There's always time for you, Patrick, always. Where's your lady cop sidekick? Where's Pepper?"  


"Working. Probably winding up the paperwork and case files on our take down of Red John."  


"Well, you have to bring her out for a visit sometime. She may be a cop, but she's top notch in my book. Do anything for that gal. She brought our little Caitlyn back home to us, she did."  


"That she did. No one like her, it's for sure."  


Sam came out for a hello hug and kiss. "Where Pepper at?"  


"I'm surprised you asked!  


"Well, she's always with you, so . . . "  


"I'm taking a little time off."  


Pete chimed in, "And well you should, Patrick, well you should."  


"Well, don't stand around, Patrick," said Sam. "Let's get you set up in the Airstream."  


It had been a great stay. Quiet. Family.  


Lisbon had to smile when his text message from the carnival came in. _Pete sends his love and says for you to come with me on my next visit. Seems head over heels for you, Pepper! Sam says hi, too._  


Pete had changed from deeply suspicious of her as law enforcement to deeply adoring for finding and returning a relative's baby daughter to the family. Sam obviously still had her reservations . She texted back, _Hi and love to both of them. Take as much time as you need._ As uncomfortable as it made her, she had to let him do what he felt he needed, no matter what it meant for her.  


Jane didn't immediately recognize his wanderings and his solitary meditations as a pilgrimage, gathering the frayed ends that might be darned into whole cloth again.  


When making trips away, he was careful to let Lisbon know, and not just because she was technically his boss. Knowing his own volatility, he strove to be as reassuring to her as he could, texting or calling at regular intervals. None of these communications was lengthy or extended. Just touching base. Even so, he noted that she always watched him leave in silence, a baleful look in her eyes, expecting disaster, especially the disaster that he would possibly never return. To hear her voice, know she was still there for him-- nothing felt so important as that lifeline. And he wanted to give her the same reassurance. She seemed to care about that.  


Lisbon was grateful that at least he was tugging at their lifeline to each other. As horribly as Jane had often acted towards her attempts to keep him grounded, and as painful as it had sometimes been, she wanted to believe that he had a bond with her that could not be broken and that would draw him back. But his texts and calls were the first real evidence she'd had of it since the death of Red John. She was convinced that if Lorelei had worked out for him in Las Vegas and drawn him to Red John, she would never have seen him again. New emotional explosion: anger, jealousy and sorrow. She locked the door to her office and cried softly underneath some cranked-up music. She was sure she was fooling nobody.  


Jane's behavior wasn't purposefully erratic. But, suddenly, he didn't know what to do. He had expected that, just not how pervasive it would be. He could hardly sit, concentrate, lie down, sleep, eat. Some evenings he drank too much, but most he remained sober or kept the drinking in check.  


Lisbon had worn a Bermuda triangle into her condo, pacing from kitchen to living room to bedroom and back. She couldn't settle anywhere. Tired to the bone, she would walk into the bedroom, then just stand and look at the bed, loathe to lie down. It looked too hot or lumpy, too messy. But it really was just too alone. She tramped into the living room to the couch and turned on the television. Everything was aggravating or distressing, the shows were stupid. Maybe she'd have a snack. On to the kitchen! The refrigerator held little, but it didn't matter because nothing looked appetizing. She was too tired to cook anything anyway and too tired to even bother with take out or drive-thru. God, she needed some sleep. And so began the next journey to the bedroom. Eventually she would shower and lie down just to stop running the circuit, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Patrick until she got up to see if she could fall asleep on the couch.  


Sometimes she did fall asleep on the couch, rarely long enough to dream. If she did, it was only snippets of the same dream.  


He was naked. He was ready for her, but she couldn't see him. He kissed her, touched her, bringing her body to a high pitch of desire, ready to receive him. But he was smoke, mist. Disappearing when she tried to bring him into her arms, his voice fading on the air, telling her he loved her. She would wake calling out his name and her love.  


The crying jags after this dream were epic, actually sickening to experience. On the worst days, she could not get out of the house until mid- or late morning because she couldn't stop and couldn't put herself together well enough to be seen. The team was kind enough to give her a wide berth and plenty of privacy as she holed up in her office to recover or drove alone to crime scenes.  


Constantly approached by women throughout his life, Jane paid renewed attention to the enticement. It stirred him in a new way, as if a wool covering had been removed from his body and the hungry unprotected skin wanted touch, cosseting. He wanted to be cherished. While he felt free to accept, other women could not compete with the one who had drifted through his psyche for years, touching him in places none of these could reach. His interior skin had an appetite, too. What he wanted had a strong sexual component but demanded so much more.  


Sometimes he would stare off for minutes at a time and then come to, not knowing what he had been thinking. He supposed it had to be like this for a while. Sometimes his mind raced, but in circles, always coming back to the same question.  


What now?  


All he surely knew was that he wanted Lisbon in his life. She was his anchor and his sure light. If only he could be the same for her. Did she want him, want what he could give her? Did she even know what he could give? He steeped like a favorite tea, freshly brewed with familiar leaves, leaching its essence slowly into his veins to remind him who he was, making him succulent with its properties. He knew he could give Lisbon all that she wanted and much that she had no clue she needed.  


While in Malibu, he visited the cemetery, arranging to have the death date of his beloved girls carved into their tombstones. Their long and dismal saga was over. He knew they would want it to be. He lingered in the leafy shade of their resting place with a mind blank of everything except love. But the finality of the act shook him for days. He took even more time off to remain at the house.  


He had the mattress hauled away and the walls painted in his daughter's room, obliterating the last vestiges of the shrine that was ultimately to Red John and not to his Charlotte. He no longer needed a cell for penance. Setting up an air mattress in the room he had shared with his wife, he found some peace there, sleeping restfully if not for long, often waking to a wet pillow when he had wept in his dreams.  


From a long distance in the dark, a misty light appeared to move silently towards him. There were no objects or walls to reflect light so it might have been tiny and right in front of his face or huge and a mile away. What it finally did was grow right in front of him, merely five feet away, taking shape until he saw Angela, his wife long dead, standing before him, looking as beautiful and warm as she ever did in life. Her form shimmered like a bright mirage as she lifted an arm and pointed beyond him.  


"Angela!" He stepped forward, opening his arms to catch her in a desperate embrace, but she was no closer. His body burned, a mixture of pain and desire, white hot in its urgency. No matter how he tried, he could not reach her. She stood still, not even looking at him, pointing away.  


Waking with pain in his chest, Jane at first feared a heart attack, but it resolved into the very familiar heart-centered anguish of grief and loss. Angela had turned him away, pointing him away from her and towards his own life. He wept until his throat felt cauterized, scratched by fire and he could barely open his swollen eyes. At dawn he put on the pair of old swim trunks he'd thrown in his traveling things and went outside.  


A pale sliver of sun rose under a dense knife of cloud that cut the sky in two, clear above, clear below. New light spilled over the calm water, sending shockwaves of rose and silver over its surface. Receding waves left mercury-shot puddles that reflected the dawn before sinking rapidly into the sand. He walked the beach, scattering pink quicksilver when he stamped them.  


Staying outside all day, he went in only to eat and rest for short intervals, downing a few ice-cold beers. He got out his old surfboard and spent the afternoon wading, swimming (tears could be hidden in the ocean spray), surfing, speaking to those he passed—a happy part of his old life returning to him, filling the lack. Instead of collecting bits of pretty beach detritus for Lisbon, which he knew she would toss, he took pictures of them to text to her. She was very complimentary of them and he was glad he had found a way to share his pleasure in the objects with her.  


Somewhere in his wandering, Patrick Jane became more aware of his solitude than his grief. Ocean scenes especially brought thoughts, words, wonder that he wanted to speak, and no one was with him. The varying shapes of the clouds as they approached land from the sea. The color of the sea changing with the color of the sky. Breezes and the salt air. The baking sun and the cooling water. How to predict the type of waves that would roll in by knowing the weather. The healing power of surfing. Things he could tell a child, a mate, a friend.  


As he fingered the texts to Lisbon, accompanied by pictures of what was moving him at the time, he had no idea what she would make of it. But it bubbled in him, a carefree silliness he hadn't known in a long time. Because she responded, it turned into a spotty visual travelogue.  


Sometimes Jane would check in with a phone call, usually late at night. Lisbon could almost always hear the engine of the Citroen running full tilt on a highway somewhere.  


"Hi, Lisbon."  


"Hi, Jane. How are you? Where are you now?"  


"On the road."  


"Where to?"  


"Haven't decided yet. I'll just be a day or two."  


"Okay, then. See you soon."  


"Okay, see you then."  


"And, Jane-?"  


"Hmmm?"  


"Thanks for checking in."  


"Sure thing, Lisbon. Good night."  


On those nights, Lisbon could sleep, but morning came too early.  


She knew she looked like hell, could see it in the eyes of the team and especially in Jane when he returned. He spent a lot of time seeing there were breakfast treats on her desk, getting her to break for lunch or bringing it in, having her go with him for a quick dinner bite because he didn't want to go alone. He made sure she had a little red wine. It did help her get to sleep more easily, and she would turn in early on those nights. She always felt better to have Jane's care. It was nice to have him look after her a little bit. And she did start looking well and feeling better. But Jane never tried to move their relationship deeper than that. Alone in her bed, that's what she remembered.  


Thinking he had come again to the Malibu house to take inventory of its condition in preparation for selling it, Jane found he didn't want to let it go. He loved the house, loved being on the beach. Yes, it had the worst memories imaginable but he was beginning to feel it was possible for them to recede and let him enjoy the property again. The oceanfront near Sacramento was not nearly as desirable, if he could even find anything. And the commute to work would probably be miserable, more than he could tolerate.  


Before he left the house, he removed his ring and placed it on the mantel over the fireplace, pushing it to the wall where it couldn't easily be seen. The knowledge of its existence was enough.  


For Lisbon, hearing that he was in Malibu again was the hardest. If he was going to spiral out of her life, this would be the start of it. Had he ever really grieved the loss of his family, or had he filled that gaping hole with the hunt for Red John and the revenge he sought? They had never talked about it and she certainly didn't consider him approachable on the subject. He would definitely consider it none of her business. Technically, it wasn't. As a friend, it very well could be. As a lover or mate, definitely. More proof he had no intention of moving their relationship to a deeper level. Were they even friends? Lisbon knew she couldn't open up to him about anything close to her heart without risk that would be the moment he would bring out the machete and lop off anything she was reaching to him with.  


Jane had been hospitalized, in therapy there in Malibu, after the slaughter of his family. He had emerged still a mess but pulled himself together and put purpose in his life, even if it was only to kill Red John. He'd done a lot of good along the way, helping with a myriad of cases, witnesses, suspects, crime scenes, puzzling out how the crime had been committed. He was quite indispensable to the CBI, and her team in particular. In the past year Lisbon thought she'd seen signs he wanted to get Red John over with and move on with his life, with his decision to integrate with the team and particularly as a true partner to her. Much healing could have taken place without Jane saying a word about it. Or not.  


She knew he loved her. He had to.  


What a child she was.  


Then a text arrived with a picture Jane had taken on the beach at Malibu. _I would have brought this lovely piece of green sea glass to you, but I know you don't care for such things._  


He was poking at her for not appreciating the pretty rocks and other bits of nature he would pick up and offer to her. It felt a bit like Jane was picking wildflowers for her. Cue the next mood swing, the intense pleasure of hope. She liked wildflowers. Rocks and bits of glass, not so much. Maybe a pretty shell. She noticed he didn't keep these bits or plan to keep track of them himself. But his picture was quite nice and she texted in return, _It's very pretty. Isn't it the color of your eyes? And I can enjoy it any time by looking at your picture of it. You really do have a pleasing artistic sense, Jane!_  


It warmed Jane to know that Lisbon would look at that picture and think of his eyes. One thing he did know for certain now. He wanted to stay at the CBI for as long as Teresa Lisbon was there and he could work with her. Of course, after ending the reign and the life of a serial killer as notorious as Red John, there would be promotional shifts of all sorts within the agency. He had no clue where Lisbon would decide to go, assuming she stayed with the CBI at all. She'd be able to go anywhere and the FBI already wanted her. Surprisingly, he had received FBI offers, too. Would she be able, would she want, to take him with her? He thought she would. Would she go with him, if it meant they could stay together? Perhaps he should let her in on his thinking before attaching himself to her life beyond the CBI.  


Talking to Lisbon. That would not be easy. He was bound to screw it up. Everything was too tangled and it was he who had wadded the gnarls. Would she be flexible and understanding enough to tolerate it? What did she want for her life?  


He had a chance his first day back from Malibu. It was a slow day and he sat with Lisbon in her office, lounging on the couch as she worked at her desk. She looked too thin, wan, exhausted. Jane knew she hadn't been eating or sleeping again. It had become a pattern and he was worried that she was somehow pining for him when he was gone. Well, she had no reason to assume he would return; he had taught her that himself. She couldn't know he loved her, deeply, as a man loves a woman, and for life. She didn't know because he hadn't told her or given her any gesture that would make her sure of him.  


"What are you going to do, Lisbon? Will you stay with CBI?"  


She nodded, her mind clear about that. "I imagine. We do a lot of good here." Her face clouded, then her eyes narrowed and they were distant, shuttered with pain. "What about you? You staying?"  


"Only if you are."  


Although her eyes cleared, Jane noted a minute flicker in her movement, as if a few duplicate frames had been inserted into the visual record, freezing her almost unnoticeably in a passing moment until she moved normally into the next. Then she frowned, looking unsure. "Oh?" What did he mean?  


'Definitely too close,' Jane thought. She had almost flinched and shied away.  


All the time off, the trips away. It looked to her that he was casting around, searching for his new place in the world. She was unable to completely steel herself against the probability that Jane would leave now that Red John had been eliminated.  


Patrick Jane seemed to have changed in many ways over the last year or so. But Lisbon could never be sure. He still blew hot and cold with her. About her. About his work with the CBI. Both extremes affected her more strongly now, too. Even his reaction to the death of Red John was indecipherable to her. Rather than triumphant about the demise of the serial killer, he seemed only relieved and glad to put it out of his mind. A mixture of feeling or a wavering back and forth would have made sense, but to just shrug his shoulders and start wandering?  


She wanted to reassure him of his place at the agency. "You have to know CBI would be glad to have you whether I'm here or not, Jane."  


"Because I close cases."  


"That would be your value to them, yes. But you know our team thinks more of you than that."  


"Maybe. But you know me better than anybody," he risked. "I'm not just that, to you."  


Jane had Lisbon's attention now. What was he getting at? The question was on her face and easy for him to read.  


"Am I, Lisbon?"  


"No, Jane. You never were. But it's certainly enough. And it's had to be for much of the time. You're not easy."  


"But I didn't get you fired, after all!" He smiled wanly and pointed a finger at her, a gotcha expression on his face. "Huh?"  


"No. You didn't. So far." She flashed him a teasing smile. "But don't gloat. I'm not at retirement yet. You still have plenty of time."  


That answer sounded good to him. It spoke of her willingness to have some sort of a future with him, at least in law enforcement. Not much to go on. But something.  


Lisbon was baffled. The expression on Jane's face was unreadable. There was relief in it, but no pleasure. He definitely had something on his mind. But didn't they all? Still, it must be especially so for him. She shook her head. He'd probably just take off one day and they'd never see or hear from him again. She'd just ask him. Walking to the couch, she signaled for Jane to move his legs and sit up to make room for her.  


"What's this about, Jane? Thinking of taking off? Starting a new life somewhere?" Her heart sank as she said it, not really wanting to take a chance with the answer. She began to feel kind of hot at the back of her neck and her stomach soured.  


"You all right, Lisbon?" She looked suddenly pale. But she nodded.  


"No. Not going anywhere. Not that I know of, anyway. Thought about getting an oceanfront house here, best of both worlds. I don't know if there's even anything available."  


"The commute . . . " Lisbon was relieved to hear him say he wanted to stay.  


"Exactly." Jane smiled at their agreement in thought.  


"I doubt it's as pretty as Malibu." She startled. "Oh! Sorry, Jane. I was just making an observation."  


"It's okay, Lisbon. I decided to keep my Malibu house no matter what else I do. Fix . . . things, and put it together again. It's too pretty to lose. And like I said, hard to find better here." He decided it was time he let her in a little on that part of his life. It was obvious he had made her too afraid to ask him questions about it. "I went to the cemetery."  


Lisbon almost gasped, but caught herself in time. He was going to discuss this with her? "I'm glad, Jane, I—"  


"Can I tell you about it?" He waited for her shock to subside, her lips a small "o" under eyes lifted in surprise. The green was like a deep forest stream and it shot him through the heart, infected him as sure as any arrow from Cupid. Encouraged that she hadn't made an excuse to leave or changed the subject, he talked about what he'd done and how he'd felt about it. By the end of his tale, she was smiling sympathetically, her eyes liquid and deep. He wished she would look at him that way forever.  


Touched by what he'd done, she searched for a way to respond. Reaching over, she laid two fingers on his arm like she had once done to comfort him a long time ago. "I know they'd like that, Jane. I'm sure the stones will be beautiful."  


He not only accepted her touch, but he patted her fingers briefly before she removed them. It was a most extraordinary experience. But she interrupted the soaring of her heart at his touch and jerked that kite to the ground before she became giddy over nothing. Best to go.  


"Well, Jane, quitting time." Lisbon gathered her things and made ready to leave. She thought she'd stop and get a burger on the way. Though slow, the day had been long and she was tired. Jane had a funny look on his face. It seemed kind of lonesome. Would he-? "I was just going to get a burger to take home. Are you hungry? We could eat in the restaurant instead. If you wa—"  


Chagrined that his touch had made her shy away, he had hung his head. Sweet Lisbon was reaching past her own feelings again, to help his. His eyes were gentle and he spoke softly. "Sounds great, Lisbon. I'd love a burger. Is it far?"  


Lisbon shook her head. "No, not far at all."  


"Why don't you ride with me? I can bring you back to your car."  


"Sh—Sure. Let's do that."  


Dinner was comfortable because they talked about small things, both enjoying a simple meal in a relaxing neutral setting. Jane drove back to the CBI lot so that Lisbon could get her car. They lingered in the Citroen a moment to end the evening.  


"Off on another trip, Jane, or heading home?"  


"No trip. Not just yet. I think I'll go up and make myself a cup of tea before I go home."  


"What? Alone? I'll have a cup with you if you want." She didn't know why she was concerned about his solitude tonight. Maybe it was because he suddenly hadn't seemed like the solitary type for a few hours. "Unless you're really planning to spend the night here?"  


"Oh, no. No. Not tonight. My motel room will be fine. Feels more like home tonight."  


"Okay, then. Let's make some tea."


	2. Chapter 2

Darkness fell around them in Lisbon's office. Ambient light from the bullpen cast its glow through the open blinds, making it possible to see enough for their purposes. They sat at opposite ends of her couch, the comfortable one Jane had taken the liberty to order for her several years ago. He'd been right. It was a wonderful sofa and she'd used it to gather her strength many times over the years. And it was a place for Jane to land, giving her the comfort of his company.  


Jane felt time was critical. He needed to make himself known before Lisbon committed to anything that couldn't include him. He needed to know if she had already made up her mind against him as a suitor, or even eventually a mate. Had she ever even considered the possibility? He set his cup and saucer down and rubbed his hands nervously along his thighs, preparing to open the conversation.  


Watching him, Lisbon reflected on their tea time. It hadn't been tense. But there was something obviously on his mind. She didn't dare speculate. How many times had he seemed to leave an opening for her to get closer to him, even as a friend, and then slammed the door in her face? Or pushed her roughly, even cruelly away with words that cut and hurt? Sometimes she was absolutely convinced that it was his way of masking his true feelings for her. But mostly she was sure that she was an absolute fool for thinking such things.  


"What if you get a big promotion and you're not team leader anymore?"  


"I suppose I'll take it. I mean I'll miss being out in the field. But someone with the skills to do managerial things should be in those positions. I think I'd learn to enjoy it. And be good at it."  


"You would be safer, too. Out of the line of fire. Or not as much, anyway." He would rest so much easier knowing that she would not regularly be the target of an unending line of killers.  


"Ha! Look what happened to Wainwright!" She shook her head. When he didn't respond, she looked at him. His face was grim, mouth set and brow wrinkled. She had upset him.  


"A little macabre, don't you think, Lisbon?" How could she laugh off a similar fate? It made him feel sick with even vaguely anticipated loss.  


"I was just joking, Jane. My point is, it's so rare. But it does happen. Sorry, if I brought up a sore point." Why did he care about Wainwright all of a sudden?  


"I just don't want the same thing to happen to you." The light in his eye was serious, almost threatening.  


Lisbon pulled her head back, a little shocked. He was afraid for her life, even now? Red John was _dead._ "Of course you don't. I know that. I know you care what happens to me." She paused before shifting back to the last thread of their conversation that had made sense. "So. Anyway, yes, I might get a promotion. Probably will. But I haven't heard anything yet."  


"Well, uh, would there still be a place for me?"  


"Absolutely. You're really essential to what we do around here, Jane. We wouldn't know what to do without you."  


"I won't work at CBI without being associated directly with you, Lisbon. I wouldn't consider it. Honestly. Why would I come to work if I couldn't see you, be with you?"  


Smiling at the warmth of feeling he expressed, she blushed. "Well, Jane, we—we need you on cases. I might not be directly on them very much."  


"I'll be terribly . . . lonely, Lisbon. I've always worked with you. We're a great team. Partners, yes?"  


Lisbon sensed dangerous ground here. Jane was making an emotional pitch, and the sense of loss he intimated tore at her heart. "You'll adjust if I'm not there, Jane." Somehow she really didn't think he would. She frowned. What could they arrange to induce him to stay on? "Your skills are perfect for law enforcement. They shouldn't be wasted. You do too much good. You can't throw it away."  


"I don't want to adjust! You don't want to stay partners?" Jane felt a low, thrumming panic build in his chest and stomach. If he didn't stay at the CBI in whatever capacity, what profession would he have? And if he left, he would be saying good-bye to Lisbon completely and permanently. It would be impossible to stay and impossible to go!  


Lisbon watched the distress ripple across his face and take hold. How well she knew this face and its many nuances! He looked ready to bolt! "Jane! Don't worry. Trust me, partner. We will figure out a way to make it work. Have a little faith in me huh? Especially me with power!' Her eyebrows wiggled over eyes that sparkled like a lively brook.  


To Jane, her expression looked positively wicked, even arousing, and it allowed him to share her confidence. He pushed a little further. "If it didn't work out-"  


"It will, Jane. I promise. I'll make it work out."  


He couldn't help but smile at her. "But if it didn't . . . I've had offers from the FBI. Would you go there with me? So we could stay as a team, partners, I mean."  


"I don't know, Jane." Actually, she couldn't imagine a stranger situation. It surprised her that he felt that strongly about it. "Let's not worry about that until we have to. I'm sure the FBI would also be glad to have either or both of us."  


She hadn't said no! Jane took a deep breath. It was time. He released the breath imprisoned with the panic in his chest and turned to look at her. "I'm asking, Lisbon, because, you know, I love you, that's all. You know that, right? I don't want us to be separated anymore."  


Lisbon turned her head away with almost a snap and froze in place. What terrible trap was this? "No-o . . . How am I supposed to know that?"  


He shrugged and made a nondescript noise, "I just thought after all this time . . . you'd just know."  


Her laugh was sharp and bitter, more of a snort. "You mean before you drew me in or after you flayed me alive? Repeatedly."  


Jane started in shock. She could be describing an attack by Red John. It was sobering to know how she felt and to see her point of view. He had no defense, except he'd done it to protect her. It sounded lame, but it was true. Well, except for still being attached to his Angela. Or completely focused on avenging her death and murdering Red John himself. After that, he'd done it to protect her. When Red John had started targeting any relationship he had. He'd loved her by then and he couldn't risk Lisbon, no matter how painful to either of them.  


His crushing dismay at her description of what he'd done did not move her. He was going to hear her side. "Dreamed, hoped, maybe suspected at times. But know? Not even close. Since when, Jane?"  


"When I shot Tanner, I guess. It had to be love . . . for me to kill my only and closest ever link to Red John to save your life. You should have known then."  


She still didn't look at him. "No, Jane. Not a clue. Mostly I was thinking how crazy you were at that time -- I should have let you die? It was high talk and bluster to me. I think it should have proved something to you. That there were things you wanted more than to kill Red John. You wanted to do the right thing. That's what I thought. You did the right thing. What any cop would do, any right person. And of course I was really glad, grateful. Wouldn't want to have died for that scumbag. Just to clear your path to RJ."  


"I never meant that! Of course not. I certainly don't regret saving you. Not ever. I was happy. You were still there with me. My feelings only got stronger from there. But I knew it wasn't healthy."  


"Not healthy. Love not healthy? How does that work?"  


"It interfered with me getting Red John. And then later, even worse, making you a target."  


"And that was healthy. So you couldn't love me because it would get in the way of your revenge?"  


"Well, yes. And to protect you."  


"How many times have I told you, Patrick? I don't need you to protect me." Her voice was louder, powered by a growing anger. "You kept it from me to control me! To make it easier for you to do what you wanted. Just wrote me out of it!"  


"No. Never."  


"Yes!"  


"And what would you have done if I had declared my love, Lisbon? If I had even been capable of it? Me. A consultant. None too stable in your book. And your employee. You would have welcomed advances from me? Don't lie."  


"I would have dealt with it."  


"Yeah. Dealt me right out of it."  


"So. You were controlling it for yourself. To wait for a better time with me?"  


"I guess you could say that. I wanted it to happen at a good time for both of us."  


"And it's up to you to decide the right time, a good time?"  


"I'm half of it, Lisbon!"  


"Yes, you are. The only half, apparently, Jane! Years of my life. Years. You kept this from me and made me feel freakish any time I thought I saw you approach me. Afraid that if I tried to respond to what I thought I saw, you'd flay me mercilessly and leave me in a bleeding heap. And you let us waste all this time?"  


"I don't know what else I could have done."  


"You could have trusted me, Patrick. You could have trusted our partnership. You should have understood me all this time and not used what you learned to further your own ends. Controlling my feelings!"  


"The time wasn't right. I couldn't claim you. You know I couldn't tell you."  


"But now you can."  


She obviously didn't believe him. "Yes. I'm sorry I'm so slow. So messed up. You've known that all along."  


"I only thought I knew. By the time I figured out all the layers to it, it was too late."  


"Too late for what?"  


"Too late to turn back. I was already—" She stopped herself before she said more than she was ready to commit to.  


She had some responsibility in the relationship, too. Partners had the courage to tell each other such things. But she hadn't. Out of fear for her own feelings. Fear of looking foolish to him, being turned away by him, being made diminished and unworthy of the wonderful, brilliant, talented, handsome Patrick Jane. When all the time he was in love with her, probably just as much. Sure, she had to consider whether he was someone she wanted, could even have a life with as damaged as he was. Well, as they both were. But those thoughts didn't matter. Because she was already sure of her love for him in her heart, whether he broke it or not.  


Jane had sat through her silent ruminating, but broke their silence. "We're two damaged souls, Lisbon. But I love you."  


She looked at him and then away again. She heard him almost plaintively whisper, "Do you love me?" Tears rolled down the side of her nose as she nodded, looking at her feet.  


"Can I come close to you?"  


"No."  


Patrick felt the pain slice through him like a band saw, taking his breath as it cut through his lungs. After all this? After they had come to this point? Maybe it was wrong but it was all he could have done, hoping through all of it that she would be able to stick with him until he was ready, willing to suffer the horrible loss if she decided to move on. He hoped for her, even without a word of promise from him. Even with what looked like rejection to her. It made no sense in words, but it was his reality. Because how could he make a promise, exact one from her, when perhaps she could find other love, better love in the meantime? There was no perfect solution. It looked to him that she had not wanted to find other love. She had rejected everyone else, some for trivialities. She had even rejected wealthy, handsome Walter Mashburn who was nuts about her, for Christ's sake. How could Jane NOT think she was waiting for him? Jane had begged of life to let him have one, just this one lucky break. And now she had said no.  


When she said no, did she mean never? He could barely speak through ragged breath, his voice breaking from the strain, "Forever no? I can devote myself to you now. As you deserve."  


"You have a big hole in your life that Red John used to fill and now you want me to fill it." She was cutting him, taking her revenge.  


"No. I want to fill it with you."  


"Is there a difference?"  


"You know there is."  


"You terrify me, Jane. Your feelings could change in the next minute and you could walk out of here cold and never look back. And think I should understand."  


"No. My feelings for you have never changed, only grown stronger and deeper. It's been very difficult. I've wanted so much to forget Red John, just leave it and move on. My family wouldn't have wanted this for me. But I trapped myself. And you. And there was no way out except to see it through. Finish it. My own hubris. My own fault. If you never forgive me, I will understand. But I will be a very unhappy man, Lisbon, because my heart is yours and there is no one else. I don't want anyone else but you."  


"No, Jane, you're still married in your mind." She looked at his left hand. "Where's your r—" His wedding finger bore only the naked mark of a ring worn for years, but the ring was gone.  


Jane held his hand up. "Yes. I've taken it off. I don't need it anymore. I wouldn't approach you like this with a ring still on my finger."  


Some extreme of tension drained out of her like a whirlpool was sucking it to the seabed. It left her light-headed. He had removed his ring. For her. What was he asking of her? The front of her brain hurt where the puzzle pounded for an answer. She couldn't think. If she could just sleep for awhile . . .  


Lisbon was at her limit for long exhausting conversation and profound revelations. All she could think about was lying down to rest awhile and she didn't care where at the moment. Her brain was turning on the sleep chemicals to cradle her aching mind in healing oblivion.  


Jane could see that Lisbon was drained, very sleepy but restlessly trying to stay upright. He patted his leg for her to lie down on his lap and scooted towards her. "C'mon. Here, lie down on my lap. It's okay. Rest, Lisbon. It's okay to be close to me."  


He raised his arm as invitation for her to come in. She wanted to rest with him, more than anything. She crashed onto him like a fallen sapling, allowing him to catch her shoulders to lie her down gently, hair draping everywhere, issuing a soft sighing yawn.  


"That's it. Just rest easy. Nothing's going to happen."  


"You sound like you're taming something wild." She was already drifting off, her voice dreamy.  


"I am. You're my wild pony, Lisbon. My wild, frightened pony. I've acted crazy around you, scared you. I'm sorry, Lisbon. So sorry." He tenderly smoothed and petted her hair into place.  


"My name is Teresa."  


"Of course. Thank you. Thank you, Teresa. My love. My name is Patrick." He set his hand on her arm at the shoulder, leaned back on the couch and allowed himself to rest with her.  


After a brief doze, he awoke but Lisbon was fast asleep, drooling on his trouser leg. He patted her arm to wake her. "Come on, sweet girl. Let's get you home to bed."  


"Hunh? Jane? I'm so tired. Let me sleep here."  


"No, tomorrow's Saturday. You need a good lie in, snug in your own bed. I'll take you home. You can sleep in the car on the way there and we'll get you tucked away in a trice. Okay?"  


"Unnnh." She lay back heavily against him. But she nodded.  


Jane kept an arm around her until she was seated and he had her buckled in. They hadn't gone a block before she was out again. He dug the keys out of her handbag to open the door. Lisbon practically sleepwalked into the living room and was about to settle on the couch while he was securing the front door.  


"No, no, little lamb." Jane felt a pang of sadness as he swept Lisbon up before she could fully lower herself to the sofa, and carried her to her room. The last time he had used those loving words it was to his own, lost, little girl. Well, Lisbon was his girl now and she needed as much care as his tiny Charlotte had, just in a different way. He kissed the forehead of the girl who lay asleep in his arms.  


He sat her on the bed. Keeping a hand on her, Jane removed her jacket before she plopped down on the pillow. He loosened the buttons at her neck and on the cuffs of her long sleeved blouse. He loosened her pants at the waist, removed her boots and socks. Those were the things he would do for himself if he planned to sleep in his clothes. He nudged her body into a comfortable-looking position.  


"Jane?" It was a sleepy question and Jane wasn't sure she was actually awake. "Jane?"  


"Yes, Lisbon, I'm right here. What is it?"  


"You won't leave me again?"  


"I won't go anywhere. Not unless you go with me."  


Her answer was a long sigh, and, barely discernible, "I'll go with you anywhere."  


"Thank you, sweetheart. I just want to be where you are." He knew she was asleep, but he said it anyway and left the room to bed down on the couch.  


Lisbon woke up for the bathroom sometime in the wee hours of the morning and remembered that Jane had brought her home. He said he loved her. Where was he? She found him dozing on her couch. He roused as she rustled near. "Lisbon? Why are you up? You need to be sleeping."  


"You said you wouldn't leave me."  


"I'm right here." He blushed a little to realize she wanted him to sleep with her. "I didn't know you were inviting me to your bed. You were practically sleepwalking."  


Lisbon didn't really like his answer. He had promised! She just felt so vulnerable and so damn tired of playing games. "Don't you love me?"  


"You know I do. I told you. And you told me you loved me. Well, you nodded you did, anyway."  


"I do. I love you. That's for sure."  


He looked at the sleep-tousled hair and the waking-pale complexion that made her eyes bigger, deeper, greener, drawing him into their fey woods to be lost in love with her.  


"Are you going to kiss me?"  


"Yes. I am." He arose and covered the few steps it took to hold her in his arms. She was soft and warm and barely awake but she had come from her bed to fetch him and her face was lifted to him, her dark lashes shading the dense forest of her eyes as she looked into his, waiting for her kiss. Oh, her lips were tender and sweet, soft and responsive kissing him back, blanketing them both in a field of warmth and surging energy. He never wanted to stop, but she broke from him so gently, it was almost a second kiss.  


"Come on. It's the middle of the night, way too early to wake up. Come to bed and sleep with me."  


He followed her and watched as she turned her back to him to remove everything except her panties, reaching for the jersey that hung on the headboard and slipping it over her head. He stripped down to his shorts, not fully aroused, feeling her love straight at that moment. The passion could come later. He started to get in first to allow room for her to have her regular spot as he judged from the placement of the bedclothes.  


"No. I want to be the big spoon, just for tonight," she said. "Let me go first."  


She got in and lay on her side, holding her arm up for him to snuggle under it. Spooning against him, she sighed and moved flush against his back, tucking her legs under his hips and wrapping her arm at his waist. Jane had never been the little spoon before. The tenderness of it overwhelmed him, bringing hot tears and a few sniffles, which he tried to stifle.  


Lisbon squeezed him tight. "Don't worry, Patrick. Everything's going to be okay. I'm right here. And you're here with me."  


"Right where we should be," he responded.  


The short cry quieted Patrick and he drifted away to sleep, Lisbon kissing his back and telling him how much she loved him. A mite compared to him, she literally had his back and he felt protected.  


He woke with her hand on his morning wood.  


When he stirred she said, "I like this, Patrick. It's big and fat."  


"I like your hand on it," he croaked in his dry, waking voice. "You're going to make it even bigger if you keep that up." He turned to see Lisbon had taken off her clothes, a juicy nymph, all curves.  


"The head is so wide and plump. It's going to feel very good, going inside me."  


"Is that a hint?" Rolling to his side to face her, two tightly tipped pink nipples pointed at him and he thumbed them gently when she rolled to her back. Exploring further, he tested the fleshy globes by rolling them in his large sensuous hands like ripe rare fruit, brushing his thumbs over the nipples until she groaned, "That feels so good."  


She still had a hand on his cock, which had swelled as she handled it and was now starting a bead of moisture at the tip. He lowered his hand to the triangle of her sex, covered lightly with curling hair, the lips naked beneath. He shivered, imagining the moment he would penetrate her and slipped a finger into the cleft to test her readiness. She was hot and liquid and his finger slid over a plump, firm nub that made her tremble and utter a little cry of pleasure. That would be fun to play with! Gently searching for the tip, he feathered it with the end of his finger again and again as she opened her legs and breathed heavily, looking at him with passion in her eyes.  


He said, mirroring what she had said to him, "Mmmmmm. I like this, Teresa. It's big and fat."  


She looked into his eyes, gray in the muted light of the room. It was a sultry look that captivated Jane and he whispered, "Please kiss me."  


Placing her hand on his shoulder, Lisbon pulled herself close and began to taste his lips on every surface from every angle. "Mmmmm, you're my peach," she breathed.  


Her words started a rolling surge of pleasure that forced his mouth open so that he could get air. Lisbon used this invitation to explore it with her tongue, and Jane responded by pressing her open even more, enticed by the softness and warmth. He pulled her close to his body, petting her flank and reaching for her fanny, squeezing and pushing the globes to force her against his now electrified erect flesh.  


"I want inside you, Teresa."  


In answer she separated from him, rolled to her back and held her arms out. Bending her knees and letting them fall open, she exposed the blush of her vulva to him, an invitation to enter her that uncoiled something untamed in Jane's nature. She was a conch shell, pearly pink with moisture, her breath the sound of the sea in his ear. He began to breathe hard and shifted his body to hover over Teresa, groaning his great want in short bursts, stopping himself from ravaging her so that he could savor her instead. Ravaging could come later.  


She was so small, even the flesh that made her tender saddle was petite and he feared hurting her.  


"I won't break, Patrick. Please put the head inside me. I want to feel it push into me and roll around just inside."  


Soft, wet, contagious heat. It was all concentrated at the head of his cock as he set himself against her and moistened himself with her juices. Pressing slowly in he savored the pressure until he popped into her pillowy vault just past the muscles at the entrance.  


Lisbon felt him rotate that plump head just inside her. He pulled rhythmically back and forth against the muscles at the opening, teasing her as if he would pull out. It caused her to squirm towards him to keep him inside. Slowly he began to work his way deeper as she closed her eyes to get lost in the feeling he created inside her.  


"Teresa. Look at me. I want to see what you like, what you're feeling." He moved in her, slowly, watching her reactions, adjusting in order to please her, to discover what would drive her to orgasm.  


Lisbon had never looked into a partner's eyes like this during sex, not like Patrick was demanding. The intensity of the experience skyrocketed as she looked into the stormy green eyes of the man she loved, looking into her just as closely. Eyes filled with love and pleasure and discovery. He used his cock as an instrument to communicate with her, asking questions and responding enthusiastically to her answers. He was planted completely in her, rotating, spiraled deep inside with that plump plum of a head the pivot, filling her at the bottom while she wrapped him completely.  


"You're going to come now!" He sounded triumphant, filled with his own pleasure.  


"Yes!" Lisbon started to close her eyes as she felt the orgasm take its first hold on her like a fist.  


Jane felt her clench around him. "No, Teresa, don't close your eyes. I want to see you come. I want to see what it does to you. Please!"  


She smiled at him, eyes shining as if illuminated from within, as her body began to rock in his arms with the contractions of her orgasm. The smile he returned to her filled his eyes with love and wonder. They dilated as his own hips jerked and she watched ecstasy take hold of him.  


"I'm coming, too. Oh, god, it's so good."  


The intense hot wet of him, shooting into her, starting to drip from her as she looked into his eyes made her cry out breathlessly. "I feel you, Pa--, the warmth from your body. You make me feel . . . feel . . . divine!" She thought he might not really understand her meaning but she didn't care. She had no other word.  


"I know. That's how I feel." Patrick knew ecstasy.  


They both closed their eyes and rested in each other's arms for a while.  


Before they separated, Teresa began to kiss his face, helpless kisses wet with tears. "Patrick, making love with you was the most . . . most . . . transcendent . . . conversation I've ever had with anyone."  


He caught her mouth and savored her kiss-plumped lips, wet and salty with tears. "I'm so glad you let me in, let me see you completely unguarded."  


Teresa's joy brought laughter to her heart and she looked at him in smiling amazement. "I love you from a place I don't even know the zip code."  


"All I know is you live there, Teresa, and that's where I want to be."


End file.
